


So Close Now

by MathClassWarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mentioned Ardyn Izunia, POV Noctis Lucis Caelum, Rescue, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Noctis pushed his best friend off a moving train, and he’s desperate to get him back.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 22
Kudos: 68
Collections: FFXV Book Club Monthly Sprint Prompts, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreyskdramablog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyskdramablog/gifts).



Fenestala Manor is burning.

The first time Noctis came here, it looked exactly how a castle in the sky should look; jutting up above the morning fog, surrounded by lush forests and fields of blue sylleblossoms. After surviving a horrific daemon attack at home, this was the place where he felt safe—for a little while, at least.

Now, as the other passengers filter out of the train, they gasp and cry out at the smoldering ruins of what was once the most beautiful place in the world. Noctis thinks it’s appropriate, somehow, to see it like this now that Luna is gone. This thought churns up the guilt sitting heavy in his chest as he sits quietly on the platform. 

He’s been half-listening while Ignis and Gladio talk with Aranea Highwind, their surprising new ally. She already explained that the empire’s daemons were responsible for the attack on Tenebrae, that she defected, and that her team has been flying refugees out of Gralea. From the sound of it, the capitol is overrun, so they can’t take the civilians any further on the train. When Aranea says she’s heading right back into Niflheim anyway, Noctis shakes himself out of his fog.

“—middle of nowhere, out in the ice, but I have it on good authority that Besithia’s developing some kind of new weapon. I’d like to see it for myself.”

“We’d be much obliged if you would fill us in on whatever you find,” Ignis says, pulling a card out of his pocket and handing it to her.

“Sure thing.”

Noctis takes a breath to steady his voice. “Aranea, while you’re out there, could you please look for our friend? I can show you where I think it is that I—where we, we lost him.” He pulls out his phone and shows her a screenshot of a map, where he’s drawn a circle. 

She frowns and crosses her arms. “This is a solo mission. I need to act fast—maintain the element of surprise.”

Noctis grips the edge of the platform. “We can pay you—Ignis?”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “I guess I can keep an eye out, sure.” 

Ignis opens his wallet and retrieves a couple of bills. “We _do_ appreciate it, but you needn’t go out of your way,” he says, handing her the money. “I have no doubt that Chancellor Izunia has already captured Prompto and will have him waiting for us in Gralea. It’s a clear ploy to—”

“You _don’t know that!”_ Noctis shouts, surprising himself and making Ignis flinch. Shame calms his rage a little, and he lowers his voice. “Prompto’s tougher than people think. And smarter. He isn’t just going to let himself get captured.” 

“ _Yeah_. Blondie’s a freakin’ badass, so he’s prob—”

“Gladio, stop. He could be anywhere out there, _alone—”_ His voice breaks and he inhales quickly to hold back a sob. “—in, in the cold. I just—I need to know . . . Can you find him? Please?” He’s aware of how desperate and unhinged he must seem, staring at Aranea and waiting for a response.

She purses her lips. “You’re right, it _is_ harsh out there. And taking a detour leaves me exposed longer than I’d like. I don’t suppose you have any of those fancy Lucian curatives that you could spare?”

“I-I think so—” 

“Yes,” Ignis interjects. “It isn’t much, but we’d be more than happy to give you a handful of potions and a remedy.”

“I can work with that.” She pats Noctis on the shoulder. “Try not to worry, your Highness— _errr_ , Majesty. I’ll look for your friend.”

“Thank you,” Noctis breathes.

Ignis sighs. “You are very kind, and we’re grateful for the assistance.”

“Of course.”

This is all so wrong. Noctis shouldn’t be begging a mercenary to find Prompto for him, he should be out there searching himself, or doing _something_ , at least. He mutters, “Gonna take a walk,” and leaves the others to their conversation. Ignis can catch him up later if there’s anything else he needs to know.

Noctis walks until he can’t make out the voices anymore and finds himself in a small garden. It looks familiar, but he can’t be sure. At first, the gardens here all kind of looked the same. Then he explored them with Luna, and each one became special because they were special to her. He sits on a bench, running his hand along the rough stone. Could this have been a school for dolls and the occasional dog? Or was it a bus that they took to see the stars? If only he could remember. It’s been too long.

He pulls the ring out of a pocket in his jacket and sets it in his palm. Luna sacrificed everything to bring this to him, and now what? What are they even doing? They think maybe the crystal can purge the daemons, but how? Nobody has any idea what, if anything, Noctis can do with it—or with this ring. They don’t know that his ancestors won’t burn him on the spot when he puts it on. 

People have been saying his whole life that he’s a dud. Sure, he’s supposed to be “Chosen” by the crystal, but does that mean he gets a free pass? Does it not matter to the Kings of Yore that he’s a useless fuckup, bringing disgrace to the line of Lucis? 

If Noctis is being honest though, the old kings’ judgment isn’t what he’s most afraid of. If he drops dead, the world will still have Ignis. What scares him the most is that once he puts it on, it becomes real. He’ll really be the King of Lucis, with all the power and responsibility and potential to fail and disappoint everyone.

With shaking hands, he shoves the ring back into his pocket and zips it shut.

⁂

Somehow, Noctis doesn’t feel the cold as he trudges through snow that reaches as high as the tops of his boots. He doesn’t have a coat, and the ice crystals are forming on his clothes, but there’s no time to worry about that now. He has to keep going. He has to find Prompto.

With the wind whipping up clouds of snow and sand, he can’t see more than a couple of feet in front of his face. That’s why, when he does spot the dark shape on the ground ahead, he’s close enough to make out the plaid pattern on a shirttail.

_No._

Noctis runs with all of the energy he has left and rolls Prompto over onto his back. 

_No._

His face is blue. His lips are purple. His face is framed with spikes of ice. 

_No no no no no no no!_

Prompto’s much too heavy as Noctis pulls his frozen body to his chest and screams. He’s still screaming when he wakes up in his bunk. 

“Noct, are you all right?”

After taking a couple gulps of air, he croaks, “Bad dream . . . Sorry, Ignis. Go back to sleep.”

There’s a rustling of blankets as Ignis sits up. Noctis glances over at him through the darkness of their cabin and winces. It’s still so hard to look at him. 

Then the door slides open, and Gladio pops his head in. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine. Noct just had a bad dream, is all.”

Gladio hums. 

“We’re going to find him,” Ignis says, leaning into the aisle between the bunks.

“Yeah. We will,” Gladio says even more softly—probably bracing for another outburst, but Noctis just rolls towards the wall. 

Eventually, Ignis lies back down, and Gladio slides the door closed again. 

Noctis doesn’t want to close his eyes, because he can’t shake the image of Prompto lying face-down in the snow. He can’t shake the feeling that he killed his best friend—the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with; the one who kept him going. He can’t stop thinking about all the awful things Ardyn’s trick made him do to the one he loves.

He said vile things that he can never unsay. He swung at Prompto with a sword and grabbed him by the neck. Then Noctis pushed him off of a moving train and left him behind to die, so they could save all those other people. That wasn’t his choice. He would choose Prompto over all of them, every time—even though he’d definitely hate Noctis for it. This is why he’s a shit king, if he’s even technically the king yet. Ignis would be much better at it. He always makes the right call, like this one.

“ _Noct?"_ ” Ignis whispers from his bunk.

Noctis knows he can’t fool Ignis by pretending to be asleep, but he doesn’t feel like talking right now. So he just lays there, in the tense, dark silence, and stares at the clattering wall.


	2. Chapter 2

The trainyard outside Zegnautus Keep in the middle of the night is neither the time nor the place to say, ‘I told you so,’ but that doesn’t stop Noctis from thinking it. As they climb out of the wreckage of the Regalia, he hopes Gladio is at least a little bit grateful that they brought her along.

Looking at her, smashed up and smoking on the tracks, Noctis remembers the magical feeling he would get as a kid whenever the car pulled up. It was inseparable from the excitement at seeing his dad after a long day of meetings and public appearances. Something clenches up in his chest, and his grief rises like a wave, so he holds his breath until the risk of breaking down ebbs away. Now, more than ever, he needs to get a grip. They’re so close. He looks at his friends and back at the car one last time. Then they head towards the keep. 

His weapons are stuck somehow, but Noctis continues trying to summon a sword anyway. It’s an odd feeling—reaching for that mysterious yet familiar no-place and not feeling a hilt against his palm. He reaches and reaches and reaches—like flexing an ethereal muscle—and it makes his hand tingle oddly. 

Then there’s a crash and a screech as a huge mess of metal falls, nearly crushing Noctis. He’d say he was lucky, except that Ignis and Gladio are on the other side. Now he’s not just weaponless, he’s alone. 

While his friends look for another way in, Noctis runs through the train yard, dodging daemons as he goes. From some source he can’t identify, Ardyn’s voice taunts him. He hopes it’s a PA system, because the alternative is too terrifying to consider. Spotting a doorway a few stories above, he scrambles up a metal staircase. Luckily, the door swings open easily. He runs inside, slamming the door closed on the snaga following close at his heels, and finds himself in a quiet, empty room. 

With a shaky hand, he pulls the ring out of his pocket. He’s run out of excuses and options. It’s time. 

Noctis takes a ragged breath and looks down at his birthright. This could be it for him. This could be the moment he burns up into a little pile of ash, and he’s utterly alone. But if he can’t step up for his friends and all the other people— _his_ people—then he may as well end it now. Breathing fast, the shaking in his hand only gets worse as he pushes through his fear and puts on the ring.

He howls as magic courses through him like he’s never felt before. His blood burns inside his veins. His senses flood with a rapid succession of crystalline faces and a cacophony of voices. After a few excruciating minutes, the surge slows to a trickle. He can still feel it, though—just barely there, buzzing and crackling under his skin. 

When the next daemon crosses his path, Noctis doesn’t run. 

He holds out his hand and feels a pull at that part of himself he always draws on for magic, only this time it’s different. Something dislodges, and a sickening energy seeps out of him, curling around his foes in red, life-draining wisps. He shudders, wondering if that’s been in him all this time, or if the ring put it there. Then another snaga springs out from behind a crate and catches him by surprise. He moves quickly to evade the attack and emits a burst of light, protecting him and taking out the daemon all at once. Convenient.

As he makes his way through the dim metal corridors, Noctis starts to get a handle on the ring’s magic. It took him forever to learn to warp or summon weapons, but somehow he’s able to control these new spells in less than an hour. It must be amplifying his abilities. He knows that power like this always comes at a cost, but that’s not what’s important right now. Ever since Ardyn confirmed that he had Prompto, it’s all Noctis can think about. While he’s down here slogging away at fighting daemons, his best friend is suffering unimaginable horrors, somewhere in this facility. 

Entering yet another room full of skittering snaga, Noctis yells through gritted teeth. His rage bubbles and grows as he slowly drains one daemon after another—sidestepping and blasting any that dare to lunge his way. Then something _really_ weird happens. A black and purple orb manifests in the center of the room, growing larger and crackling with magical energy. With a sudden and terrible whoosh, it finally disappears, along with the rest of the snaga. Noctis hardly takes a moment to wonder where they might have ended up before he moves on. 

“How does it feel to be powerless?” Ardyn taunts through a crackling speaker. “Can’t help your friends if you can’t help yourself.”

His head spins with despair and worry. He has to find them—fast. The way to the elevator is crawling with deranged-looking magitek hatchetmen. These must be the berserk MTs Aranea mentioned. He stays quiet and tries to avoid them.

“Can’t you simply taste the air of foreboding?” Ardyn coos. He must be watching through the security system. Noctis scans the ceiling for a camera but it’s too dark to tell where it might be. 

Then he rounds a corner and sees a flash of red plaid. He hears the unmistakable sound of crownsguard-issue combat boots, running down the corridor.

“Hey! Prompto! Wait!” 

He doesn’t wonder why his best friend is running from him, but it still cuts like a knife through his traitorous heart. He just needs to catch up, so he can try to explain. The problem is, Prompto’s always been faster than him. 

He comes across a passage littered with downed MTs and figures Prompto must have gone that way. Maybe he managed to get his gun back from Ardyn or scrounged up a new one. Maybe he’s finally using the melee-combat skills he picked up during his self-defense training. Noctis knows that Prompto could make good use of one of those axes. Rushing past the MTs, he finds out the hard way that one of them isn’t as dead as he thought. He manages to kick it in the face-plate and shake his leg free, but it leaves him feeling even jumpier than before. 

Ardyn’s cruel laughter comes through the speakers. “Poor Prompto must be feeling the heat right about now.”

When Noctis finally catches up with him, Prompto’s slumped in a chair, behind metal bars. Noctis cries out, trying to pry open the door, and Prompto doesn’t stir. It doesn’t make any sense. He was just running freely—he took down all those MTs. Ardyn must have captured him again and knocked him out. 

It’s probably a trap, but Noctis doesn’t care—especially not when he hears Prompto waking up and calling to him for help. He squeezes through a gap between some crates and rushes to Prompto, but as soon as he reaches out to touch him, he’s gone. In his place, a lifeless MT falls to the floor. Another trick—and Noctis was foolish enough to fall for it again. 

“Ah, you should have seen the look on your face,” Ardyn laughs. “You’d best hurry. Next time it might really be your friend.”

With a pounding, broken heart, Noctis continues on his path, trying to ignore the endless stream of taunts. 

“Are you certain it wasn’t the real thing? Wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”

Noctis shudders. If Ardyn can disguise an MT as Prompto, could he have disguised Prompto as an MT? Noctis has fought a bunch of them since he’s been in here. The one that grabbed his leg, what if— _no_. He shakes his head to banish the thought. None of those MTs could have been him. Prompto would _never_ try to hurt Noctis, not even after what he did.

“That’s one of my personal favorites.” 

It occurs to Noctis that Ardyn has probably played this trick on Prompto too. He feels sick—and used. But the elevator is just ahead. He can do this.

“Your heart’s desire, so close now.”

He sucks in a breath, and his step falters. _Does he know? Is that why he did this?_

“Soon it will be within your grasp.”

If Noctis hadn’t been so selfish, if he’d had better impulse control, if he’d focused on his position and his duty, maybe he could have avoided dragging his best friend into this nightmare. This is all his fault.

“I suggest you take the central elevator. It will take you to your goal.”

“Aren’t you helpful now?” Noctis mutters, regretting each and every time he’s allowed himself to rely on the chancellor. They still haven’t figured out what he’s really after, but Noctis was headed to the elevator already. He may as well stick with that plan. 

As he traverses the metal grate catwalk, he tries to avoid looking down. 

When the platform collapses beneath him, instinct compels him to look for a good warp point, and his fingers itch for a weapon that never materializes. He just barely manages to wrap his arms around his head before the moment of impact. It hurts, but he survives. 

It’s quiet on this lower level, once the ringing in his ears stops. As he pushes himself up, Noctis spots a paper on the floor next to him—fancy stationary that looks somewhat familiar. He grabs it, expecting to see Luna’s handwriting, but the elegant cursive isn’t hers.

>   
>  _Rely upon the Altissians if you must, and cease all contact with the empire. If you seek a covenant, you know full well the cost. Should Noctis succeed in claiming the power, I shall gladly restore his father’s sword to him._  
> 

Looking up from the page, Noctis sees him—Ravus Nox Fleuret, lying dead on the floor. His magitek arm is still gripping the sword. When Noctis approaches, the prosthetic clatters to the floor. He shakes his head and sighs. Ravus didn’t deserve this.

From the letters scattered around him, it becomes clear that his aim all along was to support his sister, and he helped her fulfill her calling in the end. Now, Noctis can’t even thank him. He’ll have to show his gratitude through his actions instead.

When he picks up the sword, Noctis reconnects to his armiger for just a fleeting moment. With the line of Lucis behind him, he turns the blade over, testing the weight of it in his hands. The last time his father let him hold this sword, it was so heavy. Now, it feels right. 

As he makes his way through the keep, he starts to piece together what happened here. He already heard the empire was making daemons, but Aranea hadn’t mentioned that they were making them from _people_. Same with the MTs—raised as infants to fight for the empire. Ardyn doesn’t need to remind Noctis how many they’ve killed—how many he’s killed in the last several hours alone. The shock and grief leaves him reeling, but he fights through it. They didn’t know, and anyway, they had no choice. 

“The most fascinating tidbit about your dear Prompto. . .” Ardyn’s voice oozes through the speaker. 

“What?” Noctis demands.

“Turns out, he’s not empty either. He’s got quite the ‘skeleton in his closet.’” The chancellor cackles at his own nonsensical joke.

Noctis clenches his teeth and breathes deep. Whatever else that was supposed to mean, it pokes the wound of Ardyn’s earlier trick. He needs to keep a handle on himself and not react. He needs to get through this.

There are _so many MTs_ roaming through the corridors and laboratories of this place. He’d rather not fight them, but it’s unavoidable. As he fends off wave after wave of the lurching soldiers, Noctis thinks, _Not Prompto. Not Prompto. Can’t be._ It’s all he can do to keep himself from shaking apart.

This entire place seems to be operating according to Ardyn’s mysterious whims, so it was inevitable that Noctis would step into a trap. As electrified walls slowly close in on him, with no apparent escape, he almost wants to laugh. After everything—the covenants, Luna’s sacrifice, the ring—could this be the end? He spent years in denial, dragging his feet, and now that he’s ready to step up and be the king his people need, he’s going to fall to the machinations of this puffed-up villain? It’s like something out of a comic book. Then he hears Ignis and Gladio calling his name, and he lets out the breath he’s been holding. Noctis has never been much good on his own.

They shut off the current and open the door, and he quickly hugs them both. The reunion is short, though. They’re still a man down.

He rushes onwards, averting his eyes as he passes daemons locked in filthy cells, and tries not to dwell on who they might’ve been before. Noctis looks straight ahead, and that’s where he finally sees his lost love; strung up by the arms, head hanging, covered in cuts and bruises. He gasps when he sees Prompto, because he _knows_. This time, it’s really him.


	3. Chapter 3

His hands won’t stop shaking. Not when he scoops Prompto up off the floor and hugs him tight. Not when he passes him to Gladio to carry while they search for a relatively secure place to rest. Not when they help Prompto out of his filthy, blood-stained clothes and try to clean him up—just enough to treat his injuries and make him more comfortable.

His hands are still shaking as they ease Prompto, shirtless and much too thin, into a bed. Sitting near his best friend’s feet, Noctis watches as Gladio patches him up with ointments, bandages, and their last few potions. He aches to hold Prompto in his arms and apologize for what he did, but now isn’t the time. This isn’t about him.

When Gladio finishes, he pulls the blanket up over Prompto’s shoulders and pats him on the head. It makes Noctis smile.

“It’s late,” Ignis rightly observes. “We should all try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” Gladio sits down heavy on another bed and begins to unlace his boots.

Noctis lingers for a moment at Prompto’s bed, listening to him breathe slow and deep. It seems like he’s asleep, but when Noctis starts to get up, he murmurs, _“Uh uh.”_

 _“Hmm?”_ Noctis crouches near his head and gives in to the impulse to brush a lock of hair out of his face. Prompto reaches for his wrist, curling his fingers to hold Noctis there. He opens his eyes, looking up at Noctis, and it’s like some kind of miracle—even after everything Noctis did, Prompto still doesn’t want him to leave.

The gratitude that Noctis feels nearly overwhelms him. He doesn’t want to leave Prompto’s side either, but he hasn’t yet told Ignis and Gladio that they’re together. They’ve been keeping this secret since that night on the motel rooftop that somehow changed everything and nothing at the same time. After what happened on the train, he probably should have said something, but it just didn’t feel right without Prompto there to speak for himself.

“Stay here?” Prompto whispers. 

Noctis looks around. There are so many beds in this room, and he can’t think of any conceivable excuse to share this narrow bunk, but in this moment, he finds he doesn’t care. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he breathes. 

Noctis slides his wrist out of Prompto’s weak grip, and his hand finally stops shaking as their fingers intertwine. Prompto rolls towards the wall to give him space, and Noctis kicks off his boots, crawling in behind him. He doesn’t bother checking to see if Gladio or Ignis have noticed. Maybe they’ll explain later—or not. 

After a long night of terror and violence, gods and magic, and horrible revelation, Noctis can finally feel the tension and rage begin to drain away. He drifts off to sleep, nuzzling the back of Prompto’s neck, listening to him breathe, and feeling every precious heartbeat against his palm. Prompto is here. He’s alive. And Noctis is never going to lose him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Audrey for supporting the [Young Center for Immigrant Children’s Rights!](https://www.theyoungcenter.org)
> 
> Thanks so much to everybody who gave me editing and feedback: Shadi, Keaka, Neko-Positive and mementomoryo! 
> 
> And thanks to ffxv book club! I wrote the last bit of this for one of our monthly sprint events. The prompt was: ‘there were so many beds’ from this [tumblr post of ‘worst fanfic prompts’](https://onthedriftinthetardis.tumblr.com/post/617029535845744640/worst-fanfic-promptsl) (which are all pretty great).
> 
> All of Ardyn's dialogue is from the game (English localization). Same with Ravus's letter.


End file.
